Healing
by Queen Kakia
Summary: Life is bittersweet. What if you could only achieve a utopia through pain? Character death warning (it doesn't spoil anything).


Harry Potter walked out of his apartment building, dressed as if going to a business meeting. His cloak was stashed in his bag, and would probably be wrinkled for the ceremony. And he was going to give a speech.  
  
As if the state of his clothes were what mattered.  
  
He spotted her at the end of the hall. She lived right over him, ironically. He wondered absently how long she'd been waiting for him.  
  
Despite her unkempt appearance, she looked stunning as usual. She hadn't always been the most beautiful witch in the neighborhood, but in her seventh year at Hogwarts, she'd started to blossom. By the end of the term, she'd had almost every boy at Hogwarts eating out of the palm of her hand.  
  
Not the boy that she cared about, ironically. Yes, he'd loved her, but both of them were too proud to admit it to each other.  
  
He made it up to her the next year, though. Coming to his senses, he'd asked her out, and they'd been going steady from that day. In fact, last January, they'd been engaged to get married and the wedding was supposed to be in a few weeks.  
  
Harry suspected that he'd known about them the longest, even longer than the two of them. From Day 1 as first-years, he'd felt it. No matter how much Ron had done to give the opposite impression...  
  
Harry reached the end of the hall. He noticed her red eyes and undereye circles, but didn't mention them. "Hello, Hermoine."  
  
She barely looked him in the eye and spoke in a cracked voice. "Happy birthday, Harry."  
  
He laughed bitterly. Happy wasn't exactly what he'd call it. Ironic that it happened to be his birthday, which had never brought him any joy at all until he'd reached the wizarding world. And now that he'd joined it, it was bringing him even less.  
  
"Let's go," he said softly.  
  
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They reached the graveyard by Apparation and hastily put their robes on over their outfits. It was a hidden wizard's graveyard, and it was the greatest honor for a witch or wizard to be buried there.  
  
Albus Dumbledore, older and frailer than Harry remembered, but still with the inner spark, walked up to them and bowed slightly. "Harry. Hermoine."  
  
"Professor," Harry replied, bending his head. Next to him, Hermoine made the same motion, but her throat was probably too choked to speak.  
  
"I would like to express my regrets," Dumbledore said, and Harry understood that he was grieving as much as Harry and Hermoine themselves were.  
  
Hermoine let out a quiet sob. A tear rolled down her cheek and melted there.  
  
"At the same time, you must remember. Ron died a hero's death," Dumbledore reminded them.  
  
Harry didn't say anything. It was all very well for them to say that--they weren't the ones who'd been slaughtered. Like a cow. Harry had seen Ron's death with his own eyes--exactly like Cedric Diggory's death as a fourth year. Except that they'd seen the murderer.  
  
"Remember that, Harry," Dumbledore whispered, and walked away.  
  
After he left, Harry spotted the whole Weasley family, sans Ron. He turned to her. "Come on, Hermoine. We have to go see the Weasleys."  
  
Her eyes filled of despair. "I can't...Harry, it hurts."  
  
"Hermoine." He hugged her tightly, then held her straight in front of himself. "They lost their son; their brother. I know it hurts. It hurts me, too. But I think they would appreciate their son's fiance coming to talk to them."  
  
She wiped away an intruding tear. "Okay."  
  
They walked up to them. Bill's hair, which a few days ago had looked cooler than ever, was now dirty and matted as if he hadn't washed it or styled it in weeks. Charlie's eyes were sunk in and depressed. Neat Percy's face was dirty, and he looked worse off than he'd been when he'd gotten fired from his job at the ministry.  
  
Fred and George. Harry couldn't remember a time he'd seen their faces so grave. They weren't smiling, and they weren't angry--he wondered if it was a first in their lives.  
  
And Ginny. His heart ached for her. She'd always wanted to be just like Ron, whether he'd realized it or not. Now her smalltime heroic brother was a universal giant heroic DEAD brother. She wasn't a little girl anymore, but she was the littlest in the family. And she was so strong...  
  
He saw Cho standing nearby. She had married George the previous year. Surprised as he would have been ten years ago, Harry had always been happy for them. The year after Harry had graduated, he and Cho had gone out for a while, but they'd come to a decision that they weren't right for each other. Despite that, they'd remained decent friends and spoke to each other once in a while.  
  
"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley called, hugging him, "how are you?"  
  
"Uh." What was he supposed to say? Fine? Horrible? "I'll feel better, I guess. How are you holding up?"  
  
"The children are carrying me on their shoulders, bless them," Mrs. Weasley responded weakly. "If it weren't for them, I'd be long gone..." She turned to Bill and started crying on him.  
  
Feeling uncomfortable, he went off to where FRG, George, and Cho were standing.  
  
"Harry," George acknowledged.  
  
"Hi," Cho said softly. He couldn't tell if she was embarrassed or just sad because of Ron.  
  
"Hey," he returned, directing it all three of them. He needn't have directed it at Cho, though, because she immediately went off to speak to Ginny.  
  
"Have you gone insane from guilt yet?" Fred asked, grasping at straws in order to lighten the situation.  
  
Harry sighed. "Lame, Fred."  
  
He changed his tactics. "So, you're speaking today?"  
  
Harry nodded. "They thought it would be fitting. Because I was the one who did it the first time...and because I was there when it happened this time."  
  
"He's still our hero," George commented to Fred.  
  
"Cut it out," Harry snapped.  
  
Their faces snapped into identical looks of concern that Harry had never seen from either of them.  
  
"Sorry," George said sheepishly, which would have been funny. At any other time.  
  
"Are you all right, Harry?" Fred asked.  
  
"Oh, I'm fine. Just fine," Harry babbled. "Besides that I saw my best friend murdered the other day and I escaped free for the third time, yeah, Fred, I think the guilt might have actually driven me crazy. Why the HELL do I keep getting off so easy?"  
  
George looked worried. "Calm down, Harry."  
  
"You'd think living was a curse," Fred added.  
  
"I'm not upset about it." Although, now that he came to think of it, his life would have been a whole lot simpler if Voldemort had just finished him off 23 years ago when he killed Harry's parents. "But why? My dad, my mum, Cedric, and Ron--all murdered before my eyes, yet I escaped each time."  
  
"One of life's mysteries," George shrugged. "Just be grateful. If not-"  
  
George was interrupted by a ringing sound from Harry's suit pocket. He reached into the robe and pulled out the cell phone. Fred and George looked at it curiously.  
  
"It's a telephone," Harry explained. "Hold on."  
  
He walked towards the woods and sat at a stone bench. A gargoyle spouting water (through magical means, no doubt) was attached to the side.  
  
The cell phone rang again, and the gargoyle turned to look. It didn't shock Harry as much as it would have 15 years ago, which pleased him.  
  
He pressed the talk button. "Dudley?"  
  
"Yeah, it's me." Who else could it have been? None of his wizarding friends used telephones except for a few who lived in Muggle cities, but they were all here. "Are you...at the cemetery?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry answered. Dudley had taken a long time to mature, but once he did, he realized how stupid and selfish he'd always been. The cousins were very close now.  
  
"How...are you?" Dudley asked. "That sounds sort of stupid, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yeah." At least he was being honest. "But thanks for caring."  
  
"Harry..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Stay strong. And good luck with that speech."  
  
"Thanks," Harry couldn't stop the faint smile from spreading across his face.  
  
"Well...bye."  
  
"Bye."  
  
He pressed off, and almost dropped the cell as a voice broke his thoughts.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
He spun around. It was Ginny.  
  
"You startled me," he explained. "Hi."  
  
"Hi." She didn't meet his eyes. "Can I sit here?"  
  
He moved over. "It's not my bench."  
  
She gave him a weak smile, finally looking him in the eye.  
  
"Have you broken down yet?" Harry asked lightly.  
  
Ginny shook her head. "I still don't really believe that he's dead," she explained, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "I keep expecting to go home and have him answer the door, asking where everyone was."  
  
"Nope. He's definitely dead." Harry pressed his hands to the sides of his head and pushed his hair back. "Trust me. I was there." He let out a tiny sigh.  
  
"Dammit." Ginny leaned against him, and he pulled back a lock of her hair that had gotten in her face. Surprisingly, it felt pretty good to have her there. "I'm never going to accept it."  
  
"The sooner you accept it, the sooner you heal." He didn't know where he'd heard that before (Who knew--maybe he'd made it up on the spot), but it sounded like practical advice.  
  
Ginny mumbled something into his shoulder that he didn't hear.  
  
"What?" he asked, trying to ignore the shiver that passed through his body as he felt her breath on him.  
  
She picked her head up. "I said...what if I don't want to heal?"  
  
"Oh, Ginny..." He hugged her. "That's so...Ginny, you..." His words trailed off. He squeezed her more fiercely, trying to give her some of his strength.  
  
She wrapped her arms around his and pressed her face into his arm. He felt something wet and realized that they were teardrops.  
  
He pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Stay strong, Ginny. For Ron."  
  
She didn't say anything, but looked at his fingers, which were still on her. Finally, she looked up, and they locked eyes.  
  
Harry's heart almost stopped beating and he drew in a sharp breath. Her gaze was so intense. He figured his must have been, too, judging by the way she was returning it.  
  
His hands dropped to the bottom of her face and he started tracing her lips with his thumb. Up, down, up, down, down the curve and around to up. Up, down, up--  
  
And she kissed his finger.  
  
His heart dropped.  
  
And suddenly they heard voices coming towards them. Quickly, they separated. Harry hoped his face wasn't as red as Ginny's was. His heart was pounding about a thousand times per minute.  
  
"Harry?" George's voice called, and seconds later he stepped into the clearing. "Oh, hi, Ginny." Apparently, he didn't notice. "They're about to start the ceremony." He turned to go, Harry and Ginny following with hands clasped together.  
  
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Dumbledore stepped down from the podium, and Harry walked up to it. He looked out at the crowd, recognizing faces from his childhood. Seamus Finnigan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown, Ernie Macmillan, and the Patil twins. There were loads of people he didn't know, and some people he recognized by face, but not by name.  
  
He started to speak.  
  
"Twenty-four years ago to the day, I was born. A little over one year later, Lord Voldemort-" he heard a few gasps from the crowd, but he saw Dumbledore's shining face of approval, so he continued "-arrived at my house and killed my parents. He tried to kill me, too. But my mother's self-sacrifice prevented him.  
  
"I had done nothing. I just lay there, crying, perhaps. It was my mother's doing that caused the first downfall of Lord Voldemort. But, for some reason, I was hailed as the hero who had caused the Dark Lord to fall.  
  
"He was to come back 13 years later, stronger than ever. And everyone here remembers exactly how strong he became. Many a witch or wizard--or a Muggle--was killed by the hands of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I'm sure we all remember Professor Severus Snape, who was killed a hero, saving many lives. And the list goes on for a long time.  
  
"The last person on this list is Ron Weasley. One of my best friends at Hogwarts, Ron was loyal to the end. He didn't go looking for his own victory--as long as his team did well, he was happy. And, being in Gryffindor, he was happy a lot over the 7 years."  
  
A few people in the crowd nodded.  
  
"Ron was also one of the bravest people I have ever known. He risked his own life--and paid for it--with his ingenious theory on how to destroy the Dark Lord. He used the wizarding version of the dementor's kiss, which no wizard in the world before him could perfect--the Soul Sucking Curse--and trapped Lord Voldemort's essence inside an Unbreakable box. Unfortunately for him, Voldemort was still stronger than expected, and somehow took his wand's soul with him into the box. In fact, after the scene was over, Professor Albus Dumbledore tested the wand out and it had been rid of all its magical power. Anyway, Voldemort performed the killing curse on Ron with the spirit of his wand at the exact same time as Ron destroyed the box. Thus, Ron was killed at the same time as the Dark Lord was destroyed. Voldemort didn't die--he couldn't die. The mistake many wizards had made before was trying to kill him. They didn't realize he couldn't die. He was destroyed, not killed."  
  
He looked around at the crowd, and judging by most peoples' expressions, nobody had known what had actually happened until now. Only Professor Dumbledore gave Harry a knowing smile, and he realized that Dumbledore hadn't told anyone what Harry had told him--he'd saved the story for Harry to tell.  
  
"Life is a funny thing. I was famous for something I'd barely done when I was younger. Ron put up with it amazingly well, but you could always tell he wanted to be outstanding. World-famous.  
  
"Well, he got his wish. And then he died for it. The irony is almost unreal.  
  
"There are many lessons to be learned, but I'm not very good at that kind of thing. So I'm just going to give people a little advice:  
  
"Don't give up your lives over this. Ron wouldn't want you to wither away on his account.  
  
"Grieve as much as you need to. This may sound like it's contradicting what I said before, but it means, basically, don't be afraid to cry. It will do you good.  
  
"And don't deny it to yourselves. I know, some of you who didn't know Ron well may have accepted it as soon as you heard it. But the rest of you, the ones especially close to Ron...remember, the sooner you accept this, the sooner you heal."  
  
He dared to look at Ginny for the first time during the speech and almost got bowled over. She was looking straight into his soul. He was looking right back into hers. And it was telling him everything he needed to hear.  
  
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Harry lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was sleeping in Ron's old room--Mrs. Weasley had invited him and Hermoine to stay for the weekend. It was too creepy to sleep in Ron's bed, so he'd opened the spare bed and was sleeping there.  
  
He wasn't sure if the problem was all of today's events, the fact that Ginny was sleeping in the same house, or a combination of both. He suspected that it was the latter, but it didn't really make a difference, because he was going to be exhausted in the morning.  
  
He took a few deep breaths and rolled over. That was it. Breathing was the key to everything. Well, the key to staying alive, anyway.  
  
Harry sat up in bed. Was something glowing? He reached for his glasses, and did a double-take when he put them on. Ron! Or...Ron's ghost?  
  
"Hey, Harry," the Ron-thing said.  
  
Harry just gaped. Ron? Ron was dead. He'd been buried earlier that day. It must have been a ghost.  
  
"Miss me?"  
  
He finally found his tongue under the pillow, so he reached in and put it back in his mouth. "Yeah. Are you...a ghost?"  
  
Ron nodded, grinning.  
  
"Is this a dream, or...?"  
  
Ron floated around the room. "I'm not sure. I guess you'll realize in the morning. Hey...this is fun."  
  
"I'm sure," Harry responded dryly. "Okay, so say this is a dream and you are a ghost. Are you...real?"  
  
"Yeah," Ron confirmed, "I'm definitely real." He floated around the room again. "It hasn't changed much."  
  
"Ron, you've been dead four days," Harry told him. "What do you expect?"  
  
Ron's ghost ignored the question. "Now I have a few things to tell you."  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. What was this, advice? "Okay, shoot."  
  
"First of all: nice speech. Thanks for everything you said."  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"Second of all: tell everyone I love them, but I'm fine--for being dead, anyway, and never to do anything really dumb because I'll see and appear to someone and tell them."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Third of all."  
  
He didn't continue. "Third of all, what?" Harry demanded.  
  
"Third of all: Take good care of my sister. Or I'll hunt you down and 'invite' you to join me."  
  
Grinning wildly, he disappeared. No mortal being ever saw him again... except one. But that's another story. 


End file.
